It is well known for any nostalgic sometimes you feel close to people who will not ever be, which has never spoken and whose faces are not even able to specify . Are the voices coming through songs, books, movies. Are fictions, but also about us as if its authors had taken pieces of our lives when we got down to work. I guess it's because all possible lives are more alike than you think. Lhasa de Sela
appeared to me (I can not think of a better way to say) seven years ago in a bar in La Latina in Madrid, a bar that would not be able to find. I took rods with two friends and was one of those times where one is more sensitive than normal, as if skin was always closer to the eye or ear. If we add to the loneliness a little bit of sleaze that is always one in a big city, some disappointments and took my back a good therapy of Tom Waits, Leonard Cohen and Billie Holiday, I guess it's no wonder that I fall in love with Lhasa the first time.
The waitress I had to repeat three times the name of that voice from somewhere tore across the speakers. What I said in a napkin and put it in the bottom of the pocket. Convinced my friends to take another rod at the same bar as long as that still listen to music that was unable to put any labels. Like
casual friendships, Lhasa stayed in my life, but my friends that night she disappeared beer. I wrote a few hours under the dictates of his melody so tormented as beautiful. Josele say Santiago sings with the stomach, the truth, I could not define what he sang Lhasa. I stole even the title of a song for a story: Facing wall.
As often happens with interesting people, it was not easy to keep track of Lhasa. His own biography was a mixture root difficult to disentangle. Lhasa disguised himself at times of Chavela in Quebec, of Edith Piaf in Mexico or Wim Mertens in the desert or Ry Cooder in Marseille. Jumped from Castilian to English or French with the same natural way that your voice is brittle accommodated sing anything, any violin, trumpet or guitar.
That night I stumbled home and listening again to Tom Waits. But it bore the name of Lhasa on a napkin and was, although he could not know, a little less alone.
snowed in Montreal said that for forty hours after Lhasa away.
appeared to me (I can not think of a better way to say) seven years ago in a bar in La Latina in Madrid, a bar that would not be able to find. I took rods with two friends and was one of those times where one is more sensitive than normal, as if skin was always closer to the eye or ear. If we add to the loneliness a little bit of sleaze that is always one in a big city, some disappointments and took my back a good therapy of Tom Waits, Leonard Cohen and Billie Holiday, I guess it's no wonder that I fall in love with Lhasa the first time.
The waitress I had to repeat three times the name of that voice from somewhere tore across the speakers. What I said in a napkin and put it in the bottom of the pocket. Convinced my friends to take another rod at the same bar as long as that still listen to music that was unable to put any labels. Like
casual friendships, Lhasa stayed in my life, but my friends that night she disappeared beer. I wrote a few hours under the dictates of his melody so tormented as beautiful. Josele say Santiago sings with the stomach, the truth, I could not define what he sang Lhasa. I stole even the title of a song for a story: Facing wall.
As often happens with interesting people, it was not easy to keep track of Lhasa. His own biography was a mixture root difficult to disentangle. Lhasa disguised himself at times of Chavela in Quebec, of Edith Piaf in Mexico or Wim Mertens in the desert or Ry Cooder in Marseille. Jumped from Castilian to English or French with the same natural way that your voice is brittle accommodated sing anything, any violin, trumpet or guitar.
That night I stumbled home and listening again to Tom Waits. But it bore the name of Lhasa on a napkin and was, although he could not know, a little less alone.
snowed in Montreal said that for forty hours after Lhasa away.
0 comments:
Post a Comment